


YMCA it ain't - Sequel to Macho Man

by millygal



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Case Fic, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:24:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Ray's still undercover, Chris is worrying his pretty little head. What's Litton up to and how's Gene gonna get his man out without getting him killed?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a mammoth, far more serious/porny follow up to 'Macho Man'. Elf's taking full blame for htis. It started out completely Chris/Ray ended up (as all my fics do) having a healthy slice of Sam/Gene...

Oh for Gods sake. 

How many times is he gonna have to cover his arse with more and more lies? It's getting complicated, that's for damn sure. 

He's already dealt with Litton and his cronies barging in, rucking up the place, almost blowing his cover. It'd taken some creative story telling and gritting of teeth but he's safe, for now.

There's definitely something going on with that guy. The DCI's far too slick for his own good and exactly how had he known Ray'd be there? 

If and when he gets back to the nick, he's gonna shove that bottle of 'Paco Rabanne' so far up Litton's arse, he'll have extremely fresh breath for the rest of his life.

There's something odd going on there, has to be. He'd come waltzing in, acting like he'd owned the place and made a big show of knowing Ray but not letting on he was a cop. Why, if he was gonna screw him over, why not just completely out him instead of treading softly enough just to get Ray a good old fashioned kicking.

It's bad enough that he's been nursing bruised ribs and busted knuckles, now he's gotta fret over that great lummox, Chris. It's no good. Doesn't matter if he ends up completely black and blue, he's gonna have to go see him. He's not made contact with him in days. No wonder Sam'd managed to talk him into coming here.

That's another thing, fucking Tyler and his fucking nosey busy body ways. Why can't he keep his beak outta other peoples affairs? If Chris ends up in the firing line 'cos of his bull headed stubbornness, his name'll be added to the list of people Ray's gonna give a permanent limp.

Sneaking a look either side of him, Ray checks to see who's watching before slinking out back to the pay phone. He dials his own number with shaking fingers and waits for Chris to pick up. He's bound to be at Ray's rather than his parents place. 

Sure enough, after five rings, Chris's muzzy voice answers and Ray slams the receiver back in it's cradle. Good, least he knows he's out of harms way, for now. No one knows who Ray really is, no one except Litton that is. He's not been home in five days so they can't have followed him and he's made sure to go nowhere near any of his team.

He's had two phone conversations with the Guv. Both of those'd been taken up by Ray giving all the information he could before he got caught 'chatting with the enemy'. He didn't get chance to ask how Chris was or if the Guv could pass on a message.

He's hoping that Gene'll know to let Chris know he's fine, well, fine enough. The Guv doesn't know about Litton yet, not about him coming in and almost buggering it up, nor about the severe beating he'd gotten for acting suspiciously. Ray's not told him because he knows the Guv'll go bloody ballistic.

It's not that he doesn't think Litton deserves it. Ray's pretty sure he, or at least one of his officers, is bent, bent as a nine bob note. It's actually got a lot to do with wanting to **see** the slimy scroat spitting teeth rather than hearing about it second hand. That and he's not sure the Guv'll stop if he starts. The last thing Ray wants is a blokes death on his conscience, even if that bloke is dinner jacket wearing Litton. Ray can grudgingly admit that Sam keeps Gene reigned in most the time but things with Litton've been going on far too long for Tyler to understand or stop if the Guv gets going.

Reassured that Chris's at his place, Ray wanders back to his 'borrowed' bike and scans the car park for Keeley. Keeley's the object of CID's affections. He's the reason Ray's stuck in this stink hole club, socialising with scum suckers, drug pushers and pimps.

It makes Ray's skin crawl. It's all he can do not to break out in a rash whenever he has to pal around with them. But Keeley, Christ he's the worst. Cool, calm and deadly. He's been trading kids for years and they've thrown Ray in at the deep end to try and get some answers, some results, finally. He's been like rubber for years, nothing bloody sticks to him, just bounces off and lands some other poor sap in the shit. He's always got someone set up to take the fall. The last bloke'd been a simple goafer and he'd ended up with 12 years for manslaughter.

Ray's been working this case on and off for three years and he's determined to get something on the fuckwit. Even if it means he ends up with a few broken bones. Now that Chris's involved, even if he doesn't realize it, he's not so sure that he can keep it up. If he can just get and see him, warn him to stay the hell away, then he'll be able to keep his head in the game.

Spotting Keeley by the gas pumps, Ray saunters over as nonchalantly as possible, "Gotta take a hike for a bit, man"

He feels ice blue eyes crawling over his skin and he has to stop himself shuddering before Keeley replies, "Yea, why's that?"

"The little lady's havin' a tizzy fit. Say's she'd like to see me 'for I kill meself on that shit heap bike"

Keeley laughs and Ray lets himself sag slightly, "Should keep the slag in her place, Ray. That machine's probably worth more than she is"

"Yea, yea I know but if I wanna carry on gettin' laid, I gotta pony up the goods, don't I?"

"Fair enough, man's gotta do an' all that. See you later. Still on for the ride?"

"Sure. Be back later, keep outta trouble"

"As always"

Ray nods, smirks and turns away. Only letting his disgust show on his face once he's sure no one's paying him any attention.

He hooks a leg over the bike, guns the engine and roars away in a cloud of grit and shit.

*

*

*

Chris's been pacing Ray's flat for hours. Alternating between worrying about his mate and fighting the urge to have a quick wank over the memory of Ray decked out in head to toe leather.

He's discovered many varied and interesting kinks since getting with the moustached one, but leather, that's new. Christ, he'd looked so god damned hot. 

Chris knows he shouldn't be fantasising when Ray's in real fucking deep with one of the murkiest blokes to walk the streets, but he can't help it. He's been deprived of his touch for nearly a week and it's driving Chris bloody insane.

Sexual tension, not conducive to a cohesive thought process or pleasant working environment. Poor old Phyllis, she's had the sharp end of his tongue a few times and Chris thinks he might just wake up bound and gagged in a cell if he doesn't quit snapping at her.

He's about to go get changed when the phone goes. Letting it ring for few a seconds, he finally picks up thinking it might be Ray. When he hears a grunt and the receiver being slammed down, he carefully hangs up and stares at it. Who?

Still pondering on the mysterious call, he lopes into Ray's bedroom, rifles through a cupboard and comes up with one of his pinstriped work shirts. It's become a bit of a habit. Sleeping in Ray's clothes. They're far too big and baggy for him but Chris likes the way they smell of Ray. It's daft, really but he can't help it. He's missing him and the odd waft of Ray's scent slipping up his nose is some sort of a comfort.

He know's if Ray ever catches him, he'll die of embarrassment but for now, he doesn't really give a shit.

Wandering back to the front room, he picks up his abandoned beer, curls his legs beneath him and settles on the sofa.

The mixture of fear for Ray and pent up sexual energy is making his brain fizz. Letting his head rest against the back of the seat, he closes his eyes and imagines Ray sat astride that beautiful piece of machinery. The bike'd been gorgeous, add in his bloke clad in black, supple, smooth, malleable leather and Chris's cock is twitching faster than a spastic in a magnet factory.

He fights against the voice in his head telling him to give in and touch himself, ignoring it whispering filthy words and succulent ideas. A blokes only got so much will power though and he feels the hand not holding a beer start to drift down his chest. Pinching his own nipples through the thin fabric of Ray's shirt, he allows his mind to wander, to form new and intriguing ideas that'd leave a whore house pro blushing.

His nipples must be hot wired to his groin because everytime he flicks his wrist, twists the rapidly hardening flesh between his stubby nails, his cock bobs between his legs. It must have something to do with connecting muscles but he was never very good with biology, except the practical kind.

He's not even touched his dick yet but already he can feel tiny droplets of pre cum sliding down the shaft, nestling in his curls, making him even hotter than he'd previously thought possible.

Releasing the nipple currently being squeezed, hard, he slides his hand down, down, down until the fingers of his left hand are curled round the base of his cock. 

Giving himself a quick tug to get the blood pumping, he flattens his feet against the cushions of the sofa and sets up a rhythm that'd usually have him begging. Tonight it seems appropriate, slow self inflicted torture. He's enjoying the images swirling about in his brain too much to rush this. Not in the mood for a quick one two three, he evens out his breathing, rests his chin on his chest and thrusts into his palm.

Despite his best efforts, he's got no real will power and jerks his hips, slams himself into his hand. In his head, he can see Ray, straddling him, tossing himself off, still fully clothed in those glorious leathers. With a shout, the Ray in his head cums, splashing hot, sticky liquid all down his cheek. It trickles across his skin and onto his parted lips and the Chris sat jerking himself off on Ray's sofa, feels a twinge at the base of his spine, marking the start of his climax.

He's about to lose all sense of time when Ray's front door bursts inwards and Chris shouts. Not in pleasure but in fright. He's still got his hand on his nob when he turns to face whoever's invaded his space.

Light from the hallway's making it almost impossible for Chris to see exactly who's stood in the doorway, Chris blinks a couple of times, still clutching his cock, and peers harder at the figure staring at him.

When the mysterious someone moves away from the door and away from the light, he can finally see who's been rude enough to interrupt his fun. It's Ray, oh God it's Ray and he looks pissed, majorly pissed.

The anger in his eyes is almost enough to make Chris wilt against his palm but he's still dangerously close to unravelling, despite the embarrassing situation and he can see Ray's brain ticking over, see realization seeping into his crystal blue eyes.

It's no longer just anger, Chris can guess at what's got Ray so riled. He'd gone and endangered himself and Ray by snooping at the club. He's basically just an idiot, he knows Ray knows that but the overriding emotion in Ray's eyes is one of flaming need. 

Chris isn't the only one who's been sleeping alone in a cold bed for the last five nights and Ray's body responds to the image in front him before his brain's had chance to react.

He's in the flat and slamming the door before Chris's had chance to open his mouth and say sorry for being such a prick.

Striding across the room, Ray stands above Chris, looking down on the man still desperately flexing his fingers against his own flesh and says one word, just one. "Stay"

The tone, the look on his face, the way his eyes rake across his body, it all serves to send Chris over the edge into 'begging slut' mode.

Instead of shame, he feels elation at Ray's obvious enjoyment of the picture he must be painting. Spreading his legs wider, allowing his thighs to part far enough that Ray can see the still glistening droplets sliding over his knuckles and resting in the corse hair beneath, he throws his head back, shuts his eyes and groans. It's loud, it's wanton and it's just enough to have Ray on his knees in front of Chris before the sound's finished echoing off the walls.

Ray shifts close, nuzzles his nose into Chris's curls and laps at the fluid covering his fingers. He's only tonguing Chris's hand but Chris can still feel Ray's breath huffing against his cock and it forces him to flex his fingers again.

Seeing exactly what Chris's about to do, Ray barks out another instruction, "Stop".

It sets Chris's teeth on edge, makes his toes curl but he does as he's told and loosens his grip.

Ray moves away, starts to unzip his 'outfit' but Chris's foot slowly creeping up the inside of his thigh, stills his movements. He peers at him curiously and Chris smirks, "Leave 'em on"

Oh, oh, right.

Ray ducks his head, smiles then undoes just the fly of his leathers, allowing his already hard cock to spring free.

Chris licks his lips but doesn't move, doesn't remove his hand from his crotch. Ray shuffles forward, plants a hand next to Chris's head and starts to slide his fingers along his cock, letting the tip rest just out of reach of Chris's parted lips.

Chris cranes his neck but doesn't actually move towards Ray's body. Still mindful of his instructions to stay put. Ray's impressed with Chris's restraint, seen as he's usually so bloody useless at doing as he's told. 

Relenting slightly, Ray presses closer to Chris's face, running himself along Chris's lips. Chris's tongue snakes out of his mouth and curls around him, causing Ray's hips to buck, sliding his cock into devastating moist heat.

Ray grunts, slams himself forward, fully sliding to the back of Chris's throat and moans, low and hoarse. Chris smirks round Ray's cock and hums, sending shock waves up Ray's spine.

Ray only slides himself in and out of Chris's mouth twice before the threat of release becomes too much and he has to withdraw.

Leaving Chris confused and open mouthed, he drops back to his knees, yanks Chris forwards on his haunches so that his arse is hanging off the edge of the sofa and slips his cock between his legs, letting it rest against Chris's still grasping fingers.

Searching around for something he can use, Ray's eyes land on the tube of lubricant and he smiles. What has Chris been doing while he's been away?

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he fumbles with the screw cap, squeezes a dollop into his hand and begins covering first himself then Chris in the cold, clammy substance.

Grabbing Chris's thighs, trailing his hands along his bare legs, he hooks his feet over his shoulders, making Chris gasp and moan in anticipation.

Ray leans down, rests his forehead against Chris's and pushes forward. It's, Christ it's so fucking, shit it's so good. Ray'll never get tired of feeling Chris surround him, envelope him, mind, body and soul.

Chris's angle and position don't allow for much movement so Ray's got complete control. He takes his time, sliding inside Chris slowly, enjoying the way Chris's face screws up in concentration.

A flicker of pain flashes across Chris's features and Ray stills but Chris slips his hands beneath his legs and grips Ray's hips, urging him to carry on. Needing no more insistence, Ray speeds up, slams himself into Chris, deep enough for Chris to be able to feel the thrusts reverberating round his belly.

Chris can feel Ray's leather trousers sliding against his skin and it's too much too fast and he's cumming, hard and fast and crying out with Ray's name on his lips.

Chris's muscles clenching rip Ray's loosely held control right out from underneath him and he falls head first into a yawning abyss of sensation. 

When Ray's cock is no longer pulsing inside Chris's body and Chris's entire body has gone limp, they pull apart and Ray effortlessly lifts Chris into his arms, carries him into the bedroom and lays him against the mattress.

*

*

*

Chris's dozing against Ray's chest. He's removed the leather jacket because Chris's face kept sticking to it but he's left the trousers on.

Ray knows he's gotta go, knows he can't stay here all night. It was hard enough to get away in the first place. If he disappears all night, they'll wanna know why and he's not up to the beating it'll result in when he doesn't have the right answers.

He's loathed to wake Chris but he's gotta get gone. He contemplates just slipping away, leaving Chris snoozing but he know's Chris'll wake to an empty bed and panic. Not only will he worry but he'll be hurt. Chris's a complete softy when it comes to this kind of thing and Ray doesn't wanna hurt his feelings.

Shifting his arm slightly, resting his hand against Chris's shoulder, he gives him a quick shake, "Chris, come on mate, I gotta get back"

Chris's sleep filled expression is so totally his undoing and he finds himself kissing Chris's cute little mouth before he knows what's happening.

After he's had his fill, he pulls back and says again, "Gotta go. Shift"

"Why?"

"'Cos I've already been gone too long"

The brief flash of hurt on Chris's face slices through Ray like a knife but he can't afford to stay, not when he's already on thin ice with Keeley after Litton's little visit.

Pushing away from the bed, Ray stands and begins putting his jacket back on. Chris's hands stop him and he looks up to see one blue, one green eye tracing the purple bruises scattered across his ribs. Shit. He'd forgotten about that. Now he's gonna have to explain them to Chris and the look on his face says it's not gonna be easy.

"Ray, what...what 'appened?"

"S'nothin' Chris, leave it"

He feels gentle hands trailing against the marks still marring his skin and he shivers. He can't help it, it's an involuntary reaction to Chris's touch.

"No, I'm not takin' that bollocks. What 'appened?"

"Litton"

Chris's cartoon confused face would usually make him giggle, if not for the conversation they're about to have.

"Litton?"

"Yea, fucker came tumblin' through the door shoutin' his mouth off as usual. almost wrecked my cover but I managed to talk me way out of it"

"Not very well, obviously"

"Had to talk fast, wasn't fast enough. They decided pain would probably be a better motivator for the truth"

"Ray..."

"No Chris, don't. I'm not pullin' out so don't even ask"

"But, I mean....Wait, how exactly did Litton know you were there?"

"That's the thing. I think he's got someone on the inside. Either he's skewed or one of his officers is, 'cos he knew just enough to drop me in the shit but not enough to let on I was a copper"

"Bastard"

"I'll deal with it"

"Like you did with Keeley when he was gettin' his lads to put the boot in!"

"Chris for fucks sake, leave it, right!"

Chris looks sets to say something else but Ray kisses him to shut him up and backs toward the door.

Chris follows him out, hangs at the door, brushes his lips against Ray's then watches him walk down the stairs before looking away.

*

*

*

Chris comes into the office early the next morning. Dark circles ringing his eyes, frown creasing his forehead. He sits at his desk and waits for Sam to get in before cautiously approaching. He can still remember the way Sam'd laughed and he knows full well Ray'd have his hide for talking to him about this but he's gotta talk to some fucker before he goes crazy.

"Boss?"

"Help you, Chris?"

"Yea, uh, look Ray's, Ray would..shit. Sam?"

The use of his proper name gets DI Tyler's full attention. Chris only uses his Christian name when he's really worried about something. Taking a moment to look him over, he realises just how bad a state he's got himself in. Shit.

"You all right?"

"No"

Chris's voice is quiet and he seems to be shrinking in on himself, curling into a tight little defensive ball.

"Come on, let's walk"

Sam rises, guides Chris by the elbow and heads out of the squad room. Together they trudge the corridors until Chris gets up the nerve to tell him what's so obviously troubling him.

"Ray, he...fuckfuckfuck. Sam he's in trouble. I don't know how to, what to...help me?"

Sam knows exactly what Ray's up against. Having harassed Gene for keeping him out the loop and getting all the background on Keeley Simms, he understands Chris's worries but he's not sure what he means by trouble.

"Trouble, what kind of..."

"It's Litton and Keeley and those fucking scum bags at that bloody place and, and..."

"Shh, calm down, take a breath. What do you mean Litton?"

"He, Ray told me he turned up. Dropped enough hints to get Ray a beatin'. By the looks it was a bad one too"

Sam says nothing about Chris's ability to know what state Ray's body's in and concentrates on the name that's got his inner alarm bells ringing.

"How did Litton know..."

"I have no clue but he did, does and he's managed to pull Ray in deeper by turnin' up there. He's had to, God I don't know but I don't reckon they've just let Ray off ya know. He's probably had to do all sorts and he's hatin' it. I can tell but he'll never say 'out to the Guv and I can't. It'd be like betrayin' Ray if I went to him"

"Is he, you think Litton's on the take, involved somehow?"

"Dunno, Ray thinks maybe him or one of his lads but...I can't take not knowin' whether he's gonna get out in one piece and if Litton pulls a repeat performance. Ray's dead"

Instead of answering, Sam grabs Chris by the arm and drags him back towards the squad room. He's not gonna let Ray end up dead, not even if he can't stand the plonker and Litton's up to something. Has to be.

As he continues to pull Chris along the corridor, he thinks that it's about time Gene actually listened to something or someone other than his own ego. He may be a good DCI when he puts his mind to it but he can be so bloody pig headed. Despite Sam's personal attachment to him, he can still see when Gene needs his arse kicking

*

*

*

"He fuckin' did what!" Gene's practically lead across his desk, his hands are slammed palm flat on the surface and he's hunched so far forward, Sam thinks he might actually end up falling on top of his paperwork and ashtray collection.

"Calm down, Gene" Perhaps not the best idea, he's the one who's come and dumped this info in Gene's lap, did he really think that it'd be dealt with in a relaxed and adult manor?

"It's Guv, while we're 'ere it's Guv and don't think just 'cos we share a..." Gene remembers Chris's still stood in the corner and slams his mouth shut. Anyway, Sam's right, annoyingly. He's gonna have to calm down or he'll just end up blowing his stack and that'll do Ray no good.

Channelling all of his indignation for Ray, his anger at Litton and his aggravation at Sam's complete lack of propriety at work, Gene makes the effort to lean back, stand straight and face Chris.

"So, Ray's in a bad way and Litton's the cause?"

Chris doesn't realize he's being spoken to, he's too busy over thinking Ray's predicament and his worry but he does feel someone nudging his ankle with their foot and raises his eyes enough to see Sam looking at him and nodding in the Guv's direction.

"Oh, uh yea. Ray reckons so. It was weird, apparently he came in, dropped enough clues to put Ray in the spotlight then legged it. S'like he knew what'd happen if he said just enough to make Keeley suspicious"

Gene finally sits down, presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and takes a moment to process all the information whirling round his brain. Ray's in trouble, or more trouble than usual anyway. It's his fault. Ok, no, it's Litton's fault. Gene'd known what kind of assignment this'd be but he'd figured Ray could handle himself and most the time he can. Add in Litton being his usual prickish self and that blows it all out the water.

Gene's first overriding urge is to go and drag some kind of confession from the slimy DCI but he knows, Litton's not daft, for all his posturing. He'll be prepared to lie his arse off if he needs to and you can't just go round accusing fellow officers without proper proof.

God help him, Sam's rubbing off.

"Ray's fine though, he's in one piece?"

Chris looks up from his feet long enough for Gene to see exactly how much this's been playing on his mind, then he goes back to studying his toes, "For now"

Frigging hell. How's this got so complicated? 

Gene's not used to all this emotional bollocks. He's more your fuck and run type of bloke so watching Chris really hurting over someone so close is a foreign concept. Except, ever since Sam...ever since he came crashing into Gene's life, he's been fighting a losing battle. He should say, he used to be a fuck and runner, now he's not so sure and that's half the reason he's so bloody angry with everyone.

Being presented with evidence of such strong feelings and recognising at least a spark of the same thing in his own heart, it's too much and he's not willing to admit to giving even half a damn.

He's angry with Raymond for getting himself so intrenched in Keeley's world and not coming to him when Litton'd shown up. He's mad at Chris for keep rubbing his nose in the fact that he's a part of something Gene is beginning to understand but doesn't want to. He's feeling guilty enough for putting Ray and Chris through this, he doesn't want to have to watch as Chris has a mental melt down aswell.

Sam, fuck, he's angry at Sam and he's not even sure why. Actually, that's a complete lie, he knows exactly why he's angry at Sam. Because Sam's sitting there, staring at him, wearing his heart on his sleeve, or in this instance, his face. Gene can see how much he's hurt his DI by not letting him in on the plan. It's not simply a case of withholding information, Sam's used to that. No, it's an actual breach in trust.

The same trust Gene's been banging on about for months.

He can see how much damage his little slip's caused. It's not helping that he keeps imagining Sam in Ray's place and it's turning him inside out. That's the real reason he'd kept schtum, it was as much about protecting Sam as it'd been about letting Ray shine. 

If he'd told Sam, laid it all out, Sam would've wanted to be a part of it and Gene hadn't been willing to let him go. It hadn't been a conscious decision but now it's all come crashing down around their ears, he can admit, if only to himself.

This must be driving Chris bonkers, considering his and Ray's relationship. He's holding up pretty well as far as Gene's concerned.

Taking a long swig of his whiskey and a deep, calming breath Gene tells himself getting angry won't solve anything, won't stop Ray from getting another beating. It might not fix things but it does push him far enough to order twenty four hour surveillance on Litton.

It won't be easy to pull off but it'll give Chris and Sam something to do other than watching the clock and waiting for the phone to ring.

"Right you two, I want Litton followed, get a few of the men on it, asap."

Sam throws the Guv a look that clearly says he's surprised but impressed. He'd just assumed that Gene'd pull Litton in, push him around and chuck him back out again once they'd got absolutely nothing for their troubles.

He's obviously been paying more attention than Sam gives him credit for. Even if he rages against most of Sam's rants, he's been taking it on board. That goes a little way to improving Sam's mood but not near enough.

Gene's such a hypocrite. Months, bloody months he's been spouting cracked rubbish about trust, in his team, in his surroundings, in Gene himself and yet he'd been willing to ride roughshod straight over all that to get what he wanted.

This thing between them, whatever it is, it's only just...they've barely made a start and now Sam's wondering if they should even bother. He knows he should try and keep home and work separate but it's so bloody hard with a bloke like Gene Hunt.

Chris can feel the tension crackling in the air above his head. It's familiar in the sense that it's not. He keeps looking between his Guv'nor and his boss and suddenly he knows exactly what's going on. This's exactly how it'd started between Ray and him. 

Chris's willing to bet Ray's season ticket that Sam and Gene have been going at it like bunnies for months but they've not bothered to actually sit down and discuss it. Knowing they'll get there eventually, he tries to ignore the stilted conversation, guilty looks and hurtful glares. It's none of his business.

Thinking about Sam and the Guv just reminds him that his partner's somewhere he really shouldn't be. If he closes his eyes, he can still see the fear behind Ray's bravado. Still feel the bruised and swollen flesh beneath his fingers.

Shaking himself, he looks up, nods to Sam and Gene then exits the office, determined to make a start on tailing Litton.

Gene and Sam watch him leave and both their hearts go out to him. Neither one knows what they'd do if it was them in his situation. What they do know is wherever they end up, they're gonna have to sit down and chat this out before either one of them makes another stupid mistake.

Gene's majorly pissed off now. It shouldn't be his team having to fret about this shite. He's the Guv, it's his responsibility to shoulder. He is however very grateful for Sam's silent support. Despite the fact he's probably gonna have to bear his soul at some point, a prospect he's none to comfortable with, he knows he'll have to work to mend the bridges he's managed to burn in the last few days.

Gene turns sea green eyes on Sam and opens his mouth to try and apologize, a concept completely unknown to him. 

"Gladys, I..."

"Not now, Guv"

Even though Gene'd insisted on Sam not using his given name at work, the use of 'Guv' makes his stomach coil in on itself. It's a mark of how upset Sam actually is and Gene doesn't know how to fix it. He's used to having his instructions obeyed. He's not used to having them obeyed and wishing they weren't.

"We need to..."

"I said, not now"

It's not that Sam doesn't want to talk about it. Christ, he's the chattiest bugger around when it comes to relationships or lack there of but they need to focus in on Ray and the case, on Litton and finding out what he's hiding. Seeing that Gene's obviously taking it the wrong way, Sam softens his expression, lets a small smirk play at the corners of his lips and walks round to face him properly. 

"Later, ok?"

"Yea, you're right. Ok, Litton and Ray, what the fuck we gonna do Sammy boy?"

"I've got an idea"

"God help us"

*

*

*

Sam's stood in the middle of the deserted squad room, looking at Chris and Gene both trying to come up with some kind of comment that won't get them a slap. 

Watching Sam readjust his riding boots, Chris finally understands why Sam'd had such a hard time keeping a straight face when they'd been watching Ray at the club. He looks bloody ridiculous. He's poured his skinny arse into a set of leathers not unlike Ray's except there's nothing of him and he doesn't quite fill out the shoulders or anything else properly.

Chris may be struggling to hide his amusement but Gene's gone in completely the opposite direction. He can feel his trousers getting uncomfortably tight and it's not helping that Sam's got his 'please pet me' face on.

Ok, so he might not be the worlds buffest bloke but he looks bloody good in black, even better in black leather. Sam's keeping that outfit, whether he wants to or not.

It takes him a moment to register that Chris's speaking ".....can't be serious, boss. Ray'll kill me if you waltz in there and start tryin' to take over"

"What!"

"Hello, where've you been the last ten minutes?"

"That's your plan, that's what this...." Gene waves his hand up and down in Sam's general direction "is for? You wanna wander into a club full of coke heads and start throwin' yer weight around?"

"No, not throw my weight around, just see what I can pick up. Also, best way to check Ray's still all right is going in there. He isn't gonna be able to contact us is he, not after...not when that prick Litton's been sniffing about"

Gene flicks his eyes up and down Sam's body once more and grits his teeth before turning to Chris, "What did the lads get, anythin'?"

"Yea, Litton spent mot of today at a pub called 'Hershees' and met with about a dozen different men. All of them handed over, what Fitz assumed was wads of cash in brown envelopes. Litton handed 'em back a small bag full of white powder. This went on all day, Guv"

Drugs, fucking drugs.

"We've got him. He's obviously got his'self a supplier an' he's dealin'. We can pick him up. They get pictures?"

"Yep. Lots."

What about Keeley?"

"We've got images of him dealing from stock. Kids to blokes in hoods and masks. Disgusting fucker"

"So he can't wriggle out of it?"

"No way"

"Good. And as for you, Dorothy, if you think I'm lettin' you parade your backside into a place where the regulars eat coppers alive, you got another thought comin'"

*

*

*

Sam'd basically overruled Gene by refusing to argue about it. Chris'd wisely chosen to keep his mouth shut. Knowing that he'd probably just get his head bitten off if he poked his nose in.

Sam's sat atop a not too shabby bit of kit, perched at the intersection half a mile from 'Mean Machines' and waiting for Gene and Chris to catch up in the Guv's clapped out heap of a car. Despite his nerves at going in and having to explain to Ray about him joining the operation with getting his legs broken, Sam'd enjoyed the rush of wind against his face, the feeling of power and speed. 

Leaving Gene for dust hadn't been too bad either.

Finally he hears the chugchug of the Cortina as it rounds a corner and can't help the self satisfied smirk. Gene'll be going bat shit in the car and he's not envying Chris's position in the passenger seat.

*

*

*

He's as ready as he'll ever be as he pulls up in the car park of the bikers pub. He spots Ray's bike parked four spaces away and breathes a sigh of relief. At least he's actually here.

Squaring his shoulders, he dismounts and walks towards the door as calmly and nonchalantly as possible. Yanking it open, the smell of leather and sweat and weeks old booze comes wafting out. It's completely vile and makes his stomach churn. He's suddenly got a new found respect for Ray, if he's been having to spend most his time here. It's a wonder that moustache of his hasn't died and dropped off.

The inside is definitely bigger than the outside. Shit, there's two bars on two different levels. A dance floor takes up most the downstairs while sofas and chairs take up the second area. Sam's not sure but he thinks he can see a couple of single and double beds tucked back into the corners aswell. Classy.

There's a heavy bass beat thumping out from huge speakers lining the walls and he can see men dressed like Arnie Schwarzenegger, crowding round both sets of pumps. There are beautiful and not so beautiful woman hanging off the guys in chains and leather and Sam's also spotted a small cordoned off area upstairs.

He's not certain but he thinks that's probably where Keeley and his cronies all sit and do business. Thinking about the kiddy peddling perv makes Sam's head swim. He's so disgusted by just the thought of this man, he doesn't know how Ray's been able to spend time pretending to be his friend without beating the crap out of him. Ray's never been one for self restraint, how he's held it together this long is anyone's guess.

Scanning the room, trying to locate Ray, he hears a gruff, smoke addled laugh and knows instantly where to find him. He's upstair behind the little rope and Sam's gotta get up there before he loses his bottle completely.

Heading for the stairs, he feels a dozen pairs of eyes burning into his back but keeps his shoulders straight, his head held high. Act like you belong and people with think you do. That's what he'd been told on his very first day of training. He hopes it's true.

Ray's sat in the sacred circle, listening to Keeley spout off rubbish about easy disposal techniques for bodies and hears himself laugh, despite the bile rising up his throat. This place is getting to him. He knows he's gotta keep it up, act the evil bastard but all he really wants to do is go home and scrub himself until the stench of rotten lives is washed completely away.

He's about to reply to something one of the others has said when he spots a familiar face lurking in the corner, peering curiously in at the group of rag tag arseholes all laughing and drinking.

Ray's face loses all colour and his eyes go baby deer wide for a split second, then the mask's firmly back in place and he's standing unsteadily, as if he's a little too pissed to manage basic motor functions and makes some noises about taking a slash.

No one really pays him any attention and he slips out from under the watchful eye of Keeley and motions for Sam to follow him.

Sam waits a moment then follows on behind Ray, safe enough distance away for them not to be pegged together. Ray enters the bogs, Sam waits a whole two minutes then goes in after him.

He's barely made it through the inner door when he feels strong hands yanking him off his feet and into the wall. Ray's furious face comes into hazy focus and he has to close his eyes to stop them crossing.

"What the fuck do you think you're doin'!"

Sam grits his teeth, fights the urge to thump Ray and pushes him away as best he can.

"I'm here to bring you out. We've got enough on Keeley to take him down"

"So it was you that convinced Chris to come snoopin'?"

"No, well yes, but no. Look he was worried about you, he's a mate. I was just looking out for him. Far as I'm concerned, your sorry arse could rot here but he cares about you so I offered to help"

Ray's grip loosens a tiny bit but he doesn't let Sam go, "What 'bout the Guv, he know you're here?"

"He knows a damn sight more than that, DS Carling. He knows about me being here, he knows about Litton being as bent as a fish hook and he knows about you getting yourself kicked half to death. Stop being a stubborn prick and listen for once. I'm here to help. All you gotta do is leave. Walk out the front door. We've got pictures of Keeley and his associates handing over children to buyers. We've even got pictures of Litton dealing coke in a back alley dive. So pack up and get the fuck outta here. Now"

Ray removes his hands from Sam's collar and runs them through his hair. Closing his eyes and sighing heavily, he drops his chin to his chest and lets it all sink in. Finally, he can go home, away from this festering place with it's festering people, home, back to Chris and the Guv and his life.

*

*

*

Gene, Chris, all of CID and half of every other division except Litton's, are parked up outside the club. Waiting for Sam to pull Ray out before they go in and shut the place down.

Gene's not loving the fact that Sam's taking so long. The more time he spends inside the more Gene begins to doubt letting him do this. It'd been part of the pact he'd made with himself after fucking it up so royally the last time. Let him have his feet. It's not something Gene's used to though, he's normally the one calling the shots and making the decisions.

Chris's sat beside him, staring unblinking at the front of the building. Every time the door opens, he jerks, grips the car door handle then settles back as best he can when it isn't Ray or Sam.

Gene spots someone coming out the shadows of the alley beside the club and recognises the mincy step and garish jacket instantly. Shit. It's Litton. Double shit.

He turns to Chris and can see that he's noticed him aswell. They can't do anything, not with his two men still inside. They'll just have to hope Sam and Ray can think on their feet.

*

*

*

Sam exits the loos first, so as not to raise suspicion and heads towards the door. He's about to step outside when he comes face to face with DCI Litton. They both shout in surprise but once the shock's worn off, Litton's more amused than anything else.

Sam's desperately trying to figure out how to get round this little problem when he hears Ray walk up behind him, "So, fancied a return visit did we, Mr Litton?"

"I see you've come to fetch your pit bull, Mr Tyler, what, can't take the pace any more?"

His eyes are dancing with something Sam can't quite discern. Might be madness, might be something else but whatever it is, it's not good. He could bring the entire place down on them. One word and they're both dead.

Ray growls and lunges at Litton, Sam steps in front of him, bars him from Litton with his body and turns his head. Telling Ray with his eyes that it's possibly not a great idea to start a fight with him in here, he nods towards the door and they both go to walk round him.

Sam hears the 'click' of a gun being cocked and spins to see Litton with his fire arm raised and pointing at Ray's head. His eyes are narrowed, jaw clenching and unclenching. He looks about ready to lose it and Sam's suddenly acutely aware that they've got an audience. An audience equipped with their own personal armoury of weapons and no qualms about killing coppers.

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Litton"

"Idiot! I'm not the dumb cunt that thought they could have their goons tail me about all day without my noticing. I'm smarter than you, you and that quack you call Guv"

Ray's still not said anything, he's just staring at Sam, lips pulled tight and thin, eyes swimming with fear.

Sam sees Keeley walk down the stairs and feels his heart beating its way out his chest. Fuck. The moment of panic must show on his face because Ray turns slightly, spots the biker and turns back to Sam, not just fear but dread in his eyes.

"He finds out, we're toast. Yer understand, done, no more"

"Then perhaps you should be a little nicer to me, what do you say Tyler, Carling, how about begging. I won't drop you both from a great height if you beg me, tell me what a great man I am. How much better I am than Gene Hunt" 

Before either of them can help it, Ray and Sam both screw up their faces in disgust and snort. Causing Litton to shove the barrel of the gun harder into Ray's temple.

"You aren't half the man...."

"....Gene hunt is, you complete and utter..."

"...prick. I think it's about time you faced up to the fact that..."

"...you'll never be any better than pond scum"

Litton's face is the picture of rage and it possibly wasn't the best idea to piss him off while he's got a gun stuck to the side of Ray's head but neither man cares because they could never lower themselves to beg him, even if Ray's life does depend on it.

Keeley's made it all the way across the room, the music's stopped and everyone's staring.

"Got a problem, Ray?"

"Yes he's got a problem. He's a copper, did you know. DS Carling of A division"

Oh fuck.

"And that..." Litton gestures towards Sam with the hand not holding the gun "is DI Tyler, same division, same useless fucking department"

"This true, you filth?"

"Not as filthy as you are you pervy little freak"

"For Gods sake Ray, you're dangerously close to having your brains blown out, show a little tact"

"With respect sir, it's my neck in the noose so shut the hell up. I'm sick and fuckin' tired of bein' in this dump with these rodents passin' 'emselves off as human bein's"

The arguing is enough to distract both Litton and Keeley and Ray nods at Sam, still hurling insults at him, "and you, you bloody pain in my arse. It's about time you 'eard a few 'ome truths too.." and in one fluid motion, Ray ducks, spins away from Litton to stand by Sam's side. They both raise their guns and all hell brakes loose.

*

*

*

Gene and Chris hear shots fired and are out the car before the rest of their team has chance to even register movement.

Racing across the car park, they barrel through the door and find a full scale riot going on inside.

Gene can't see Sam, all he can see is bikers beating the living shit out of each other and blood all over the walls and floor. His stomach hits his shoes and he whips out his own gun, bellows Sam's name and prays he's able to answer.

Chris can't see Ray either, he can hear Gene yelling and bullets being fired off left, right and bloody centre and he has to duck and crawl further into the room in search of his partner and his boss. He begins to match the Guv, shout for shout as he calls for Ray.

Behind them, thirty officers all waving guns and screaming, come charging into the club.

Gene hears a familiar voice shouting and screaming on the upper level. He grabs Chris on the way by, hauls him to his feet by his collar and they leg it up the stairs two at a time.

The sight that greets them stops both their hearts and makes it impossible to wrench their eyes away.

Ray's shielding a bleeding Sam from Keeley who's got Litton in a headlock and is advancing on the pair of them.

"You, you little Hitler, you're worse than they are. They just pretended to be somethin' they ain't to do their jobs. You, you're a bastard masqueradin' as filth masqueradin' as a bastard. It's sick, twisted. How many deals you got goin' on the side Litton? How many other pies you got those grubby little fingers stuffed in?"

Litton's turning purple and clawing at Keeley's arm round his throat but the guy's built like a brick shit house and there's no way he'll be shifting him any time soon. Chris can't bring himself to feel sorry for Litton, not when he's almost got Ray killed, twice. He looks past the pair to his boss and his lover and sees that Sam's badly injured. Clutching his left side, there's blood pouring from a wound beneath his ribs.

Ray's not much better off. He's got a gash under his left eye that's oozing blood down his cheek and there's a slash mark in the material of his leather jacket. There's a distinctly bloody looking substance seeping from that aswell and he's favouring his left leg but he's refusing to let Keeley anywhere near Sam.

Keeley's still jabbering, not caring that he's got another two coppers stood behind him, guns cocked and ready to shoot.

"They'll just die nice and quick like. You, I'm gonna have fun with you. I'll give you a soddin' transfusion to keep ya alive if I have to"

"Keeley, let him and them go"

He spins, causing Litton to go a deeper shade of purple and sees Gene with his gun pointing right at his head. Instead of dropping Litton, he tightens his grip, makes him gurgle and hiss. Gene's sure he can hear bones cracking but he doesn't care, not about Litton, not when he can see Sam's fading and Ray's not gonna be able to hold out much longer.

Keeley hasn't even got a gun but he's rocking his arm menacingly, making Litton's eyes roll up in his head, "Drop 'em or the pig dies. I'll snap his friggin' neck. Don't think I won't"

Chris and Gene both sneer at him then Gene throws his head back and laughs, "I don't give a shit 'bout that little oil stain. Kill him, see if I care"

That throws the other man off enough for him to loosen his grip a little and Gene squeezes the trigger before he's had chance to tighten it again.

He drops to the floor, writhes there for a second, arm still clutching Litton's throat, then stops moving all together. There's a bullet wound in his chest and there's blood pooling on the floor beneath him.

Once Keeley's down, Ray collapses backwards onto sam who manages to catch him before he hits the floor. Together they sink to the ground, a bloody mess of broken bones and bodily fluids.

Litton struggles out of the dead man's grasp only for Gene to kick him in the face. Putting him out for the count. As he collapses into the blood still seeping across the floor, Gene and Chris rush forward to check on Sam and Ray.

The noise from beneath them has lessened. Gene's not sure exactly who's winning. The bikers or the coppers but he needs to get Ray and Sam to hospital, now, "AMBULANCE, get me a friggin' ambulance"

He hears one of his officers call up and then the door slamming open.

*

*

*

Sam wakes to find Gene's feet propped against his hospital bed. He's snoring lightly, burnt out fag hanging from his lips, hip flask dangling from his fingers. He's the very picture of slobishness but Sam can't bring himself to care, not when he's so obviously been there the entire time he's been in the hospital.

Wondering how long that is exactly, he shifts slightly and winces when it jars the bullet wound in his side. He remembers feeling the tiny piece of metal entering his flesh, remembers the searing pain and chilling numbness. He also remembers Ray defending him in spite of the fact he himself had sustained enough injuries to bring down a horse.

Gratitude and respect rises up in his chest, filling him with an unfamiliar emotion where Ray's concerned. Pride. He'd been so bloody proud, watching Ray standing up to that sicko Keeley. He now knows he'll never again underestimate the gruff Sergeant. 

Despite the fact that Ray can't stand him, he'd been willing to die for him. That'll earn you a lot of brownie points. As Sam sees Gene's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, he reminds himself to buy Ray the biggest bloody whiskey he's ever seen when they eventually get out of here.

As Gene's sleep fogged brain registers that Sam's awake and watching him, he feels himself jerk, almost toppling out the chair he's been welded to for the last twenty four hours.

"Tyler?"

"Yea.."

"You back with us then?"

"Looks like"

"Good. Don't fuckin' do that again"

"Didn't know you cared"

"Neither did I, not 'til I saw you bleedin' to death behind Ray. Kinda puts it all in perspective"

Sam rakes his fingers through his short cropped hair and raises an eyebrow at Gene but keeps his mouth shut.

"Yea, all right I know I was a complete prick but..."

"What Ge...Guv, what?"

"Don't"

"Now what'd I do wrong, can't bloody win with you"

"Don't call me Guv, not here, we're...you're...fuck it Gladys, don't make this any more difficult"

"Look I...I can't keep this up. It's, ok, this thing, whatever it is. It's all or nothing. You understand? I can't sit by and wait for you to pick me up then drop me like you've been scalded because you're to fucking frightened to do anything about it"

"Sammy I'm..I...All or nothin'?"

"All or nothing. Take it or leave it but I'm telling you. Don't expect me to come running when you suddenly decide you need me to relieve the itch. I don't want half of anything. All or nothing"

Gene reaches forward, takes Sam's hand in his and runs the pad of his thumb over his knuckles. He nods his head, raises Sam's fingers to his lips and brushes them gently across his skin, "All or nothin'"

*

*

*

Chris watches Ray's face as he sleeps. His eyes are going baserk behind under his closed lids. As if he's having a vivid dream and can't escape. Chris lifts a hand, runs a finger over Ray's lips then replaces it with his mouth and he stills.

Kissing him gently so as not to wake him, he lets his face linger close to Ray's, enjoying the feel of days old stubble against his cheek.

He straightens and finds sky blue eyes staring back at him, "Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you"

"S'ok, wasn't really sleepin' anyway, just kinda hangin' in between ya know"

Chris smiles, drags the chair closer to the edge of the bed and rests his head on Ray's chest. Ray lifts a hand, runs his fingers through Chris's silky strands and waits for him to say what it is Ray knows he wants to. He's always been able to read Chris like a book. He lets his emotions show on his face and it allows Ray to see exactly what he's thinking.

Not a great asset for a copper but it makes him a bloody marvellous bloke to love.

"M'sorry"

"What for?"

"Betrayin' you"

"Huh"

"I...I told Sam, about...about Litton and Keeley and..I just couldn't. Shit Ray, you was black and blue an' I didn't wanna get a phone call tellin' me my partner was dead 'cos of some botched under cover gig"

"Chris, stop bein' a div"

Chris lifts his head from Ray's chest and looks at him, confused.

"I mean, I didn't mean...oh hell man, how do you always manage to make me sound like a jibberin' idiot. Look, if you 'adn't got Tyler and the Guv involved, I'd be dead. If Sam 'adn't come bargin' in, I'd be dead so don't be such a prat. I should be thankin' you for savin' me from my own pigheadedness"

"Oh, so you ain't gonna give me a slap for rattin' you out to the boss?"

Ray smirks evilly at Chris and licks his lips, "I didn't say that, did I?"

The grin Chris throws him makes his insides flip flop.

"Ray?"

"Yea"

"I kept the leathers"

"Kinky git"

"You love it"

"Aye"

 

 

Fin.

 

  



End file.
